


these scars will bleed (but both of our hearts believe)

by slothy_girl



Series: that spark of black that i seem to love [6]
Category: One Direction (Band), The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Addams Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Did I Mention Angst?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Twisted but Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothy_girl/pseuds/slothy_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the other boys are avoiding him and harry.</p>
<p>it’s been a little over a week since the bomb had been dropped, since louis and harry jerked the rug right out from under their three friends, ripping the threads of their reality, what they had always thought was real and true, apart at the seams. louis admits that the situation should have been handled more… delicately, but he hadn’t thought of this until it was too late and he found himself with a knife sticking out of his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these scars will bleed (but both of our hearts believe)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is all just a big writing experiment for me, as well as me trying to bring my dreams of an Addams' family AU to life, so I'm just trying to have fun with it! I would highly suggest reading at least the previous part before reading this, otherwise some things won't make sense considering this starts off right where the previous part left off.
> 
> I am not British in any way except in my ancestry, and this has not been Brit picked. If anyone is interested in helping out or just wants to offer some general constructive criticism, leave a comment or come say hi on my tumblr (slothy-girl)!
> 
> Title from the song “All of the Stars" by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Thanks: Thank you to my wonderful beta, Jennifer! All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings: While I hate to spoil things, I’d rather you all be safe than sorry, so please heed the warnings! This fic contains some mentions to universe typical violence.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money off of this, and this is in no way a reflection on reality, etc.

the other boys are avoiding him and harry.

it’s been a little over a week since the bomb had been dropped, since louis and harry jerked the rug right out from under their three friends, ripping the threads of their reality, what they had always thought was real and true, apart at the seams. louis admits that the situation should have been handled more… delicately; they should have had anne and robin and his mum there to help explain, to ease the other boys into this whole other world that they didn’t even know existed, a world they have been circling closer and closer to knowing since the moment they met him and harry. harry’s parents could have explained everything; the boys would never think that they were joking or trying to pull a prank that outlandish. jay could have offered insight as someone normal looking in, a point of connection to help the boys through this reality check as someone who is not other but grew up knowing the truth.

but he hadn’t thought of this until it was too late and he found himself with a knife sticking out of his throat. 

it had taken over an hour and several callous, insensitive, frustrated demonstrations, including but not limited to harry chopping his hand off and walking the severed part around like an insect (niall had looked as if he was going to be sick, while liam and zayn looked only a few seconds away from passing out), to convince them not to call the police or an ambulance.

louis had held harry’s hand firmly in his as they had looked on silently as the three boys had rushed to pack, phones pressed to their ears, voices frantic and hushed as they gave their excuses to paul, as they bought tickets for plane trips home, as zayn avoided their eyes when he told them that they just needed time, give them some time; and then they were gone.

harry didn’t want to stay in that house after that, didn’t want to be in la anymore, and louis definitely understood that feeling, that crushing disappointment and sadness; their vacation had been nearly over by that point anyway, so he and harry flew back to their home in London later that evening. they holed themselves up in their room, and spent those last couple days in bed, cuddled and twisted around each other so tightly that louis couldn’t tell where he ended and harry began, one hand clutching the other’s heart through hastily made slits below their rib cages, the other clutching onto their cell phones, hoping against hope and fighting off the crippling distress when the phones only vibrated with notifications from their families wishing them a good vacation and safe travel home and is something wrong, we heard you’re already home, do you need us to come see you guys?

louis had watched as harry had sent one text, right before he had to turn his phone off before they boarded the plane (unnoticed of course; couldn’t ruin their pr images after all), telling the other boys where they were going, that if they wanted to talk, they were open and available, and would be happy to help in any way they could to make this transition from normal to knowing as easy as possible, that they hoped they made it home safely, that they loved them.

it had gone unanswered.

and so they returned to work, to traveling, to singing, the fans, the european leg of the tour only just starting, unsure of where they stood with their friends, hesitant to contact them.

louis was only slightly concerned that he and harry would show up at the buses with police lying in wait for them, but he would take that over what he got instead; what he found was much worse.

the other boys had taken up residence in the second bus with the instrument playing members of their crew, leaving harry and him alone with a suspicious paul, who wouldn’t stop asking them if everything was okay without really asking, and some other impartial crew members. when paul finally just took him aside and asked what was wrong, louis could only shrug and pretend like he didn’t know what he was talking about, like he didn’t know the cause of this sudden strain between them and the other boys, like he hadn’t gone and seemed to completely ruin one of his and harry’s most precious friendships with his decision. he spent the night it took to reach the next venue curled around harry, his face pushed into the springy, apple scented curls at the base of harry’s neck, his chest squeezed up close to the sculpted line of his boy’s back, the fingers of his one hand tightly twined with harry’s and pressed up where his heart beat strongest, a thrumming comfort, a reassurance.

it all just sort of went downhill from there.

by the time they had made it to the hotel, dropped their stuff off in their reserved room, and were driven to the concert stadium just in time for sound check and last minute rehearsals for the show that night, louis had only gotten brief glimpses of the other boys, the last one being the guilty , nervous look on niall’s face as he let the elevator close right before he and harry could reach it (frustrated and miserable, louis had been close to punching something; harry must have noticed because he grabbed louis’ hands, drew him in close, and kissed the whites of his clenched knuckles while they waited for the goddamn elevator to come back up).

sound check was shit; all five of them were all out of sync and tense. cues that should have been instinctive, second nature, by now were being missed, the boys were giving him and harry a relatively large berth, avoiding louis’ eyes no matter how hard he tried to catch them. the concert didn’t turn out to be much better, though they were able to get through it, barely.

louis just didn’t know what to do.

\--x--

it goes on like that for the next couple concerts; their fans are already beginning to notice the awkwardness, the avoidance, the disconnect, the hesitation on everyone’s part, picking out flaws in the fake, manufactured routine their concerts are slowly turning into. their on stage chemistry is practically nonexistent, their conversations stilted at best, but what louis can’t stand the most is the staring; they aren’t exactly subtle about it, looking at him and harry from the corners of their eyes—it’s like they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, their eyes wary. and louis is getting sick of it, is getting ever closer to being done; there’s only so many times he can accept being blatantly ignored and blown off, only so many times he can watch harry’s face fall, the bags underneath his and harry’s eyes getting darker the longer they go without sleep because they are constantly worrying over everything, before he explodes.

what gets him the most though, what pisses him off endlessly and makes him want to scream and pull his hair out of his scalp, is how much this is all feeling like one big rejection; niall, zayn, liam—this is their way of saying no, they can’t do this, they can’t accept the truth, they won’t accept louis and harry. he knows he should ultimately be thankful that the police weren’t brought into this, that they didn’t have him and harry carted off to be separated and experimented on, but he can’t even delude himself into that, can’t get past this feeling of betrayal churning sour in his stomach, of not being good enough, of ruining everything based on a blind hope that it would all be okay.

louis starts second guessing himself, starts questioning himself to his very core, what he is; maybe things would be better if he had taken after his mother and turned out to be normal, against all odds, instead of being other like his dead beat biological father. when he voices this to harry one day, early morning sunlight filtering through the shades of their hotel room, the silence almost stifling instead of peaceful like it should have been, harry pulls back, his brows drawn together in hurt confusion, takes one look at louis, and hugs him closer to his chest, lets him bury his face into the hollow of his neck and shoulder.

“oh louis—darling.” harry’s voice is sad, thick like he’s holding back tears. louis can feel his own face heating up in response. “there’s nothing wrong with you, with being like this. there is nothing wrong with being who we are, absolutely nothing.”

harry pauses and clears his throat, pulling back far enough to look louis in the eyes and dragging a warm, slender hand down the side of his face before gently palming his cheek, his thumb resting over the purpled skin beneath his eye. “just give it time; they’ll come around eventually. they just need time to process.”

louis can tell that even harry is losing hope though, that not even he has the confidence to say for sure how this will all turn out, but louis sure hopes what he says is true, hopes that the boys will be able to look past the differences that set them apart, to look past their otherness, to see them as the boys they have always been—their friends; the ones who have cried on their shoulders, the ones who shared their thoughts, their dreams, their lives and hearts and love—everything.

\--x--

“where’s my mic?” liam asks, frantically searching around the room; it’s just the five of them in this one, relatively cluttered room, waiting to be taken backstage, to be equipped with their in-ears, to go out on stage and perform for thousands. liam ropes niall and zayn into helping with prodding fingers in their sides, though none of them venture close to the corner near the catering table where louis and harry are standing. 

why liam thought it smart to bring his mic in here is a mystery; he should have known better. with just minutes before they go on, before they fumble their way through another stiff, awkward concert, even louis’ pride can’t stop him from a half assed glance around the room. he can tell that harry is trying to look for it too without actually moving away from louis’ side by the way his eyes wander and roll around in their sockets, by the way he shifts his weight like he wants to move to help but is unsure of his reception.

louis notices the mic first, a pile of tangled cords on an end table beside the couch camouflaging it amongst its black coils; he gently swipes his fingers along the sliver of skin visible just above the waistband of harry’s trousers, nodding at the hidden mic when harry looks at him.

harry raises his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip, shares a look with louis and it is clear, just from that one glance, exactly what harry is thinking about doing. he gives louis’ hand a squeeze and walks over to where the mic is.

louis’ jaw tightens, and he can feel his shoulders going tense, because he knows how this is going to end, that he should just say something, save harry the trouble, and be done with it or just grab harry up and drag him back to his side, let liam find it on his own, because more than anything he just doesn’t want to watch harry’s face crumple in distress anymore; it does it enough as it is these days, why should he let him attempt something that will only end in more disappointment, in more upset?

but this is harry, and no matter how much he thinks this is a bad idea, it is something harry wants to do, something he needs to do, so louis stays quiet and doesn’t step in when the other boys stop complaining and fall silent, staring at harry as he withdraws the mic from its hiding place.

“here it is,” harry says, offering it up to liam, his face tentative and soft, but with a challenge shining in his eyes.

liam is so stiff and on edge as he slowly walks over to harry, it’s like he’s waiting for harry to attack him or something, like he doesn’t know harry or all the lovely things he has done, all the love and kindness he is capable of, that he openly and happily spreads to everyone he meets; and louis absolutely seethes, quietly and without letting it show too explicitly on his face because he doesn’t want to ruin whatever slim chance harry has at breaking through this barrier that has come up between them and their friends.

“thanks,” liam says, and louis can tell that liam isn’t even looking harry in the face, let alone his eyes; it looks as if he’s focused on a point past harry’s shoulder. he reaches out with obvious reluctance and awkwardly grabs the offered mic, accidently brushing harry’s fingers with his own. 

it’s as if liam has been shocked by electricity; he flinches back several steps, dropping the mic in the process, the black metal clanging as it hits the floor.

and that’s when louis knows, as he opens his arms for a defeated harry to step into, feels the touch of his trembling fingers digging into his back for reassurance, that’s when louis understands what he and harry have been blindly hoping isn’t true; these three boys, the ones who have been by his side through the ups and downs of an exploding career and budding romance with the love of his life, are not by his side any longer.

“fine,” louis says, clutching onto harry’s neck, drawing him further into his embrace, “fine.”

\--x--

and just when louis thinks it couldn’t possibly get any worse, couldn’t possibly rip his heart to any finer pieces, stabbing it with disappointment after disappointment, it does.

“what do you mean he’s going to la?”louis demands, his voice harsh, his hands fisted tightly in his lap. he feels harry’s hand wrap around one of his own, coaxing it open enough to twine their fingers together, both supportive and seeking comfort, but louis doesn’t stop glaring at the representative modest management has sent to tell them of harry’s early departure.

they are sat in a small room filled with only a table and a handful of chairs, just the three of them. louis and harry try to present a unified front, but with it being just the two of them, the other three noticeably absent, louis is feeling off balance and unprepared, so used to having zayn’s warmth on his other side, having niall and liam helping them argue their case, to help negotiate the impending separation. but they aren’t here, so they try to make due.

“it means exactly as it sounds, mr. tomlinson. the plans are already in motion; this is not up for negotiation.” the representative sighs, adjusting her glasses. “mr. tomlinson, this rift between you two and your other band mates is bringing closer attention and heavier scrutiny to your um… relationship with mr. styles. separation now, while we can still have some control over the situation, is necessary and imperative to keeping up the images your pr have spent so long developing. it is also a good pr opportunity. the paparazzi have already been notified of mr. styles arrival and he is set up to attend several high profile events that will get him into the spotlight.” 

here she pauses, smiling like she isn’t crushing louis’ heart with every word that comes out of her mouth. “it will only be for a couple of days; you’ve spent longer apart before—you’ll be fine.”

“do I really have to leave now? can’t I just leave in the morning?” harry asks; louis can hear the pleading tone filtering into his tone, but he knows nothing they do, nothing they say, will change anything.

the representative ignores harry’s questions, packing up her stuff and walking out, but not without a reminder that harry be ready in an hour. 

“don’t forget!” she says cheerfully, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

the silence drags on for several seconds before louis can’t take it anymore; with a shout, he slams his free hand down onto the table, the fake wood groaning and splintering under his strength.

“fuck.” he growls.

“christ, lou,” harry murmurs; his expression is dark, pinched in silent anger, his jaw a rigid line. louis knows it’s not him that harry’s angry with, that it’s this entire situation, from the issues with the boys to this crap, but louis can’t help but get angrier in response.

but then harry releases a heavy sigh, his body going slack like his strings have been cut; he turns to look at him, his face drawn and tired, the bags under his eyes suddenly even more pronounced than ever before. “we won’t even have time to exchange hearts.”

and that’s the final straw, the one that broke the camel’s back, that fractured its spine and broke every vertebrae irreversibly, beyond repair. 

with a broken sob, louis hunches over, his shoulders shaking, tears running down the heated skin of his cheeks, and he just cries, loud and with heaving, shivering breaths. it feels like he is raw, like every nerve is painfully sensitive, like every fiber of his being is painfully on fire, burning to smoldering ash.

harry drags him out of his chair and into his lap, pressing his face into louis’ shoulder; he can feel the cloth of his shirt get warm and damp as harry breaks down too, grabbing at each other frantically, trying to weather through these waves of pain together, the other’s only lifeline in this sea of utter bullshit. 

they cry until not even their rapid healing can keep up; louis’ eyes are swollen and itchy, his nose stuffed up and congested with snot. he clutches onto harry with all the strength he has in his body, feels his ribs buckle and crack under harry’s strength as he embraces him just as urgently, and he wishes, inexplicably and with all his heart, that none of this had happened.

\--x--

the hour they have before harry needs to go passes quickly in a flurry of tears and sloppy packing. louis can’t stop grabbing onto harry’s hand, hauling him back in so they can cling to each other, so he can try and merge the two of them together, take harry into the hollows of his body, into his blood and tendons and muscle and bone where he belongs, where he cannot leave him. it is not meant to be though, and every time harry reluctantly pulls away to resume packing, swiping the heel of his hand across his blotchy, tear stained face; louis doesn’t bother trying to mop up his tears, it’s too much effort considering he can’t seem to stop anyway. he is already feeling lost and vulnerable in a way he absolutely hates, hates that anyone with eyes will get one look at his face and know how miserable and unguarded he can’t help being in the face of harry, of the only one who understands and knows what is going on, being taken away from him. with harry gone, he will be alone.

harry leaves him in their hotel room with a hot, messy, miserable kiss, a whispered ‘I love you,’ and one last crushed glance before he closes the door behind him.

louis crumples to the floor, falling to his knees in front of the door, leaning his sweaty forehead against the cool, fake wood. it feels an awful lot like there’s broken glass in his lungs, rattling together, sharp and stabbing, vicious; an ache throbs in his chest and he distantly wonders if someone like him can die of heartbreak.

he feels weak and unstable and he fucking hates it. with a trembling sigh, he heaves himself over to the bed and collapses face first into the pillows. he doesn’t bother trying to breathe, just focuses on attempting to piece himself back together, to build his guard back up properly because he refuses to let anyone see him like this, refuses to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him broken and stripped to a proverbial bleeding disaster.

this week long break was supposed to be his and harry’s chance to corner the boys, force them to talk, get them to explain why, what has ultimately changed so drastically to cause them to act like this, like they don’t know him or harry anymore when they do, they do, for closure if this is really the end of their friendship, maybe even the end of their band; but they won’t have that opportunity now, not with harry gone for the rest of the break, in another fucking country, and there’s no way in hell that louis is going to do this on his own. no thanks.

fuck that.

so he barricades himself in his hotel room, his face buried in harry’s pillow, taking what little comfort he can from the aging scent of apples and sweat. he puts on the jumper harry purposefully left behind, switching it with one of louis’ so he could have one too, and clings to his phone like a life line, texting his mum and harry, and even anne. he orders room service when he can be bothered to acknowledge the pains of hunger in his stomach. 

he only ventures outside of the room when he absolutely needs to, for meetings, for a couple solo interviews, and he makes sure to paste on a fake smile, to hide the hurt and sadness he feels behind a wall of frenzied mania; he doesn’t give straight answers, is almost cruel in his responses, his tone scathing and mocking, his words biting, cutting, nasty, a weapon, a distraction from what is really happening inside his head. he ignores the disappointed looks from paul, scoffs at the older man’s attempts to get him to explain himself; he’ll feel bad about it all later, will probably regret some of the harsher comments he made, but right now it makes him feel a little better, makes him feel a little more in control, and it lets him make others hurt like he is; if he has to deal with all this pain and sadness and growing anger, others should too, and he’ll take any outlet he can to keep it all from overwhelming him, even if it’s at the expense of another person’s feelings.

even with this, louis can still feel this manic energy building in his muscles, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he explodes. it doesn’t help that he is getting even less sleep than before; he’s never slept well without harry there.

the first couple of days pass in this way, but by the time the fourth day rolls around, it is clear by the looks paul is sending him that he won’t be putting up with any of louis’ shit, and he doesn’t; louis gets sent back to his room earlier then he should have been, the rest of the meetings and interviews for the day canceled or rescheduled for later next week when harry has returned from la.

at least they’re learning.

he can’t take this anymore though, nothing is helping him, not even talking to harry or his mum is making him feel better at this point, everything has just built up too much, too much, and so he does the only thing he can think of when he gets back to his room after being scolded by paul, again; he locks and deadbolts the door, grabs up his suitcase from where it’s sitting on a chair, and throws it across the room, screaming and shouting incoherently, flipping the chair over, tearing the bed apart, ripping the blankets off the mattress, chucking pillows onto the floor. 

he has enough sense to try and avoid breaking anything, though one of the end table lamps is an unfortunate casualty when he flips the bed over onto the ground too, but whatever, he doesn’t fucking care, the hotel can just send him the bill, he can afford to pay for it.

when the waves of emotion pass, he is left panting, the violent energy gone, the anger and frustration having settled back into something more manageable. 

he looks around the room, surveying the damage, and he heaves a sigh, more tired than he’s ever been, his shoulders finally slumping out of the tense line they have been stuck in since he heard harry was leaving. louis picks up the chair, puts his suitcase back on it, and half heartedly picks up some of the clothes that had been scattered throughout the room. he leaves the bed on the floor, but tosses the blankets and pillows back onto the mattress, rearranging them to his liking before just collapsing onto it. the sun is still up, afternoon warmth coursing in through the open shades, but he doesn’t bother getting up to close them. he turns over and closes his eyes, snuggling into his nest, and drifts off into a restless sleep.

\--x--

the room is filled with the deep reds and oranges of the setting sun when louis surfaces from the murky, half formed nightmares that had plagued him; he blinks, vaguely wondering what could have woken him up when the sound of someone knocking on the door reverberates through the silence of the room. 

with a sigh, he rolls over and closes his eyes, tries to block out the incessant noise; if it is paul, he will just use his copy of the room key to come in; otherwise, there isn’t anyone louis can think of that would be at his door at this time in the evening. maybe it’s a hotel employee. he’s not about to get up for that though, and it doesn’t take long for the knocking to trail off into silence once more.

he burrows deeper into the warmth of the blankets. 

whatever.

\--x--

the next time he opens his eyes, it’s nearly pitch black in the room, too dark for any normal person to see through without some sort of help; the shades and curtains have been drawn and there are two other people on the bed with him. he freezes minutely, keeps his breathing steady so he doesn’t tip off whoever is there that he is awake, and lets his eyes focus so he can see through the dark properly, startling when niall’s face comes into clear view only a few centimeters away from his own. 

he sucks in a hissing breath.

“wow, that’s pretty cool,” niall whispers conversationally, like he hasn’t been avoiding louis for weeks, like he hasn’t been treating him like a monster. “you’re eyes are glowing.”

louis tenses, readying his muscles to throw himself off the bed, out of the room, to get him out of here now, when the other person suddenly wraps an arm around him from behind, the hold loose and accommodating, not quite caging him, hesitant like the person isn’t sure how this gesture will be taken. he doesn’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

“what do you guys want?” louis growls, his throat tight with the sting of rejection and betrayal; he doesn’t know why niall and zayn are here, why they would even want to be here all things considered, and didn’t they make it obvious how they were feeling about all this—

something bad must have happened to bring them here then, for them to be this close, seemingly of their own free will, their own volition, but what could be bad enough to bring them here? “what’s wrong?” he demands, then backpedals because there can be only one reason why they are here, and louis feels his face heat up, his throat close in panic. he grabs niall by the arm and manages to force out, “did something happen to harry?”

“no! no, everything is fine—harry is fine.” niall is quick to reassure, wincing at louis’ grip, patting the hand he is squeezing him with; louis loosens his hold so it’s less bruising force and more firm, commanding attention. the flare of annoyance and disappointment in his stomach wars with the tired disbelief at them being here, in this room with him, at all.

“then why are you here?”

the light of the fallen lamp flickers on, not quite broken after all, and louis squints against the sudden onslaught of light, blinking away the spots in his vision. he sits up, letting go of niall and removing zayn’s arm from around him; he crosses his arms and glares at them as they sit up as well.

“well?”

niall and zayn glance at each other before looking at louis, their shoulders sagging; louis looks on in increasing incredulity at how guilty and regretful the both of them look the longer the silence goes on. finally, niall’s face becomes determined, his blue eyes shining as he says, “we’re sorry.”

and this is the last thing he thought he would hear, that would be said, and suddenly he’s so confused, the anger melting back into mild frustration—he just doesn’t understand, where did this come from, why now?

“we’re so sorry,” zayn says. “we needed time to process everything you guys said, but what we did wasn’t cool.”

niall nods, adding “it’s not like you guys are any different from the lads we goofed off with for a week straight when we were supposed to be getting ready to sing together for the first time.” he reaches out, lightly touching louis’ hand. “you’re still the same boys we know and love; we just know you a little better now.”

louis’s throat goes tight, swollen with emotion, and tears well up in his eyes. “really?” he croaks out, because if this is all a fluke, if this isn’t real and true, if this is just another rejection just waiting to happen, louis doesn’t know what he’ll do. he’s just so tired.

“of course.”

“we were right twats.”

he can’t help a thick, croaky laugh, “damn straight you were.”

the three of them share weak, uneven laughter, out of sync with each other after spending so long a part, and louis isn’t quite ready to forgive them, is already thinking of all the ways he’s going to prank them, to give them a hard time, to get them back for all this crap they have put them through these past few weeks, but already it feels like they’re mending, slowly but surely.

tears leak down their cheeks as louis drags them in to a hug, relief extinguishing the anger, the disappointment, everything else, for now.

\--x--

ends up, the other boys had been planning on apologizing during the break, were going to lure him and harry away and do it nice and proper with offerings of their favorite foods and a fuck ton of groveling; they were going to use the rest of the break to make it up to them, and to finally ask all the questions that have been plaguing them these past few weeks. by the time they had plucked up the nerve, him and harry were nowhere to be found. they had come by the room before, several times in fact, but had gotten no answer. eventually, they had overheard some of their security detail talking about harry being forced to fly out to la and, knowing their friends, recognized that they needed to do something to help, anything at all.

liam had taken the first flight out to la to be with harry, to apologize and support him if the curly haired lad let him, while zayn and niall had stayed behind, spending the better part of the afternoon searching for louis so they could do the same, before finally confronting paul.

“it took some pleading and promises, but we managed to get him to cough up your room key,” zayn says.

“and here we are.” niall grins.

louis opens his mouth to make a witty comment, a slightly mocking quip at their expense because it will be a long time coming until they are even, when suddenly his phone vibrates with a message notification. it takes some blanket sifting and forcing niall and zayn to let him go, to stop cuddling him, and help him look for the damn thing before they find it on the floor beside the bed.

the most recent text is from harry, though there are two others from him and one from his mum that must have come while he was sleeping earlier; he clicks on harry’s oldest text.

liam is here??????

louis snorts. the second one is full of question marks and confused face emoticons; the one from his mother is full of concern, and the last one, the most recent one, simply says:

skype now

louis relays harry’s demand to niall and zayn, and five minutes later they have a laptop settled on a pile of blankets on the end of the bed, the fuzzy image of a teary eyed harry and liam coming steadily into distinct focus.

\--x--

their reunion several days later is certainly one to remember; more tears were shed, more apologies were given (louis and harry made sure to offer their own, for what it was all worth, because they really should have figured out a better way to handle the Big Reveal), and more hugs were shared than ever before.

later, when they have calmed down enough to stop their tears, they will pile onto the bed in zayn’s hotel room and louis and harry will try and answer all of the boys’ tentative questions as best as they can (“what do you mean you can remove your hearts?”), will relish in this opportunity to actually talk about who they are behind closed doors and savor the idea that their boys have been added to the group of very specific, knowledgeable people where they belong. there will still be some issues to sort out, groveling to be done, forgiveness to be given, and things for the boys to get used to, because though louis and harry won’t force them to bear witness to some of their more… adventurous activities, they won’t be trying to cage themselves in, won’t be hiding or holding back everything they do, that they are, anymore.

but for now, as they collapse into a sobbing, smiling mess, huddling in close and declaring sweet variations of ‘I love you’ for all to hear, offering cheek kisses by the bundle, louis can’t help but think that, for all the crap they’ve been through, the doubts, the worries, the avoidance, the sadness and misery, things will be fine.

they’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: There are only about three(ish) parts left, the majority of which are complete, and because school is starting back up for me soon, I want to try and get the rest of this out before I'm too overwhelmed to do anything about it, so I’m aiming for updating the series EVERY Friday, depending on real life. I can't make promises, but I will do my best!
> 
> Also, if someone could teach me how to link things in these notes, that would be brilliant!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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